


Speechless

by majesticartax



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, And angst, Eventual Sex, Illustrations, M/M, Mime Hinata, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating to Change, Student Kageyama, obviously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2018-12-14 14:38:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11785227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesticartax/pseuds/majesticartax
Summary: Cranky college student Kageyama deals with the annoying presence of a small mime outside his apartment building.He learns to handle it the best he can.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> GUYS. I'm so excited to be posting this :D the brilliant artist [@dh3sh (on tumblr)](https://dh3sh.tumblr.com/) came up with this idea for a Hinata Mime au after she drew the CUTEST Mime Hina, and I hopped on board IMMEDIATELY. I anticipate several more chapters after this very short introductory chapter, and @dh3sh will be DRAWING FOR THE FIC!??? AHHHHHHHHHHH 
> 
> I'm going to die so many amazing deaths during this project. Please feel free to laugh at me while I struggle to embed images (I mean hopefully I'll get the hang of it but until then).

 

 

 

It was… a Tuesday.

Kageyama isn’t sure why he remembers it was Tuesday. And he’s certainly not saying that that means anything - but it _was_.

So, you know, why leave it out?

It was a Tuesday when Kageyama first noticed a small group of people clustered at the street corner near his apartment building. He didn’t pay it much mind, really; with the university close by it was sort of a tradition in the surrounding area - a local quirk - for to students earn a little extra money performing on the streets, so there was never a shortage of buskers, tap dancers, cellists (he liked the cellists), magicians, and all their corresponding audiences. So when the little group of onlookers appeared on his walk home from his last class of the day (directly in his path, he might add) he wasn’t, like, _shocked_. Or even really mildly curious. He was just annoyed that some performer set up shop _basically_ right in front of his door, ruminating on how the clapping and dumb _people_ _noises_ would disrupt his very important quiet time.

So it wasn’t like he was planning to stop to watch, or anything.

He wasn’t planning on it. But he did.

It might have been the mop of orange hair that caught his eye; the bodies in the crowd gapped just perfectly for Kageyama to catch a glimpse of it. And if they hadn’t, Kageyama wouldn’t have seen him that day.

Because he was _small_. Much shorter than the majority of the audience members, and not just in height, but in build. At first, passing glance, Kageyama thought that perhaps it was a child, but when those warm brown eyes swept past him, shining out amidst a face of pale-white makeup, Kageyama knew for certain he was far beyond adolescence. There was grace to his movements that spoke of a practiced maturity; he wasn’t _old_ by any means, and maybe even a little younger than Kageyama, if he had to guess. But definitely much older than his short, lithe body suggested.

He was a mime.

Kageyama had never seen a mime in their town before; it seemed pretty antiquated, honestly. But while his makeup was full-faced, it wasn't garish and over the top like he's seen in the movies or TV. Rather it seemed like a light powder instead of some thick paint, and the only accents on his face were two red circles in the centers of his cheeks.

His face was expressive enough - it didn't need any help.

Kageyama hadn't realized he stopped walking until one of the spectators so rudely leaned to the side and blocked his view. Kageyama _tsk_ ed quietly and furrowed his brow, agitated that now he actually had to properly step up to the small ring of people to continue just…

Looking.

Because it wasn't like he was watching. Looking and watching become two very separate things when the object you're viewing is performing some act, and yet _what_ it's doing goes unnoticed.

Not that this kid or… this _man_ … whatever it was, was an object.

Kageyama just wants to emphasize how little he cared.

Anyway, all Kageyama wanted to do was get an accurate, detailed image of the thing that would inevitably piss him off daily for the next month or so. He was overdue for some new annoyance in his life, so he might as well get accustomed to looking at it.

Er… _him._

Kageyama readjusted the strap on his messenger bag before jamming his hands into his pockets and begrudgingly walking towards the small crowd.

And luckily - or not, not like Kageyama gave a shit, really - where the little mime was hidden in the ring of audience members, Kageyama stood easily above most of them, so no awkward shouldering to the front of the crowd was necessary, and he could observe just fine over the heads of the others from his position in the back.

He didn't need to use his whole body to hate the stupid mime just yet, so the barrier wasn't an issue.

So Kageyama stood silently and just _looked_ , scowling and chewing on the inside of his cheek while the mime floated about the sidewalk in his blue stripy shirt, his idiotic suspenders and high-waisted pants, gesturing around some large bag, a suitcase or something.

_It probably has all his dumb props in it,_ Kageyama thought with weighty irritation. _Fucking props._

Apparently he had serious opinions about props.

But his gestures were graceful - polished and trained in their poise.

Until they weren’t.

When the little mime went to retrieve the case, it proved to be a rather difficult chore - and no wonder, the thing was almost the size of him. And on the side of the worn brown leather, emblazoned in thick, messy white script was the kanji for _HINATA_ \- presumably his name, Kageyama thought.

_What a fucking child._

Whatever, it’s not like Kageyama cared about his stupid name.

And yet, still, Kageyama watched him struggle with the bag along with the rest of the crowd; big, panicked brown eyes flicking up towards the audience in embarrassment when several strong tugs failed to budge the case at all.

_What the hell is he even doing? Is the show over? Is he trying to leave? Someone should help him._

And with one over-enthusiastic yank to the handle, the tiny performer lost his grip and flew backward, hitting the ground hard and then lying completely still.

Kageyama felt a surge of concern ripple through him and he took an involuntary, sharp step forward, roughly shouldering the man in front of him at the sight of the small mime lying flat on his back, helpless and injured.

_Why isn’t anyone helping him!? What is wrong with—_

But then, the boy sprung up to his feet in a shocking display of athleticism that caused Kageyama’s breath to catch.

_I can’t even do that,_ Kageyama lamented enviously.

The mime pressed his hands to his cheeks in over-exaggerated shame, dusting off his butt with one hand and covering his giggling mouth sheepishly with the other.

With a surprised part in his lips, Kageyama watched the hammy little shit rub his hands together deviously before reaching down for the case again; but this time, he shoved at it, easily knocking it over onto its side and popping the latch.

Kageyama snorted out an angry breath, hating the anxious thudding of his heart over the worry he felt for the boy who was never in any kind of distress at all; scowling, Kageyama watched him stick his dumb little mime foot into the case, toeing up a black bowler hat and flipping it skillfully directly onto his head.

And then to Kageyama’s complete surprise, the mime looked up, found Kageyama’s eyes in the applauding crowd,

and winked.

Kageyama’s own eyes widened in shock, stomach flipping with with bubbly animosity. He bristled, immediately turning on his heel and stomping his way to his apartment; with eyes narrowed and teeth grit he wrenched open the lobby door.

_Fuck him,_ he thought, marching up the stairs with a totally necessary level of outrage, _making people worry like that. How dare he! Stupid mime. Who’s a_ mime!?

He jammed the key into the lock, throwing open the door and slamming it behind him.

Not that that was any different from any other day, really.

But the day continued on like that; Kageyama angrily made himself dinner and ate it bitterly at his computer desk, scowling at his school work every time those brown eyes floated up in his mind, that stupid, infuriating face distracting him from his studies.

Memories of that limber body pissing him off while he took a cool shower; those fluttery feelings of enmity in his stomach making him toss and turn into a restless sleep.

Not like he wasn’t usually kept up at night by something infuriating - something annoying that happened at school, or some way he was let down by his teammates again.

Although those thoughts weren’t usually paired with images of messy red hair, sparkling eyes and... fucking... slim waists, but still. That day wasn’t anything special - nothing of importance happened.

Not to him – not to Kageyama.

Not on that fucking Tuesday.

 


	2. Chapter 2

On a typical day, Kageyama awoke, showered, ate breakfast, and then headed off to volleyball practice before his classes began for the day. Between classes he grabbed a quick lunch at a corner store, dropped a few yen for the cellist out front, and ate his sandwich or whatever on a nearby bench where he could just listen to the soothing music and let his brain rest. Then it went: class, study, class, home, study, relax, bed. It had been that way for three years and going on four, now that the semester of his senior year had begun.

It wasn't like he expected it to change, really. It wasn't like he wanted it to. He had little desire for a social life, and he hadn't dated since high school, and that had been such a disaster that he pretty much swore off the idea entirely – at least, you know, until college was over.

But it wasn't that he didn't like people (he doesn't) it's just that it was hard to adapt his own rituals and routines to accommodate someone else's. His free time was precious to him, when he had it. He thrived on _quiet_ ; he got to recharge. And yeah, maybe he wouldn't mind sharing that quiet with someone else, but that wasn't usually what people had in mind when they dated.

Well... that's how it's been explained, anyway.

He was expected to… to _do_ things; go out, be social, have fun. Three of the things he was the absolute worst at. He was regularly told he didn't smile enough, and apparently _there's_ _nothing_ _to_ _smile_ _about_ was a rude answer.

And sex was... alright.

It wasn't the spiritual awakening he'd been taught to expect; it definitely felt good, but so did jerking off, so why everyone was so fucking obsessed with having sex when you could just do it in the quiet privacy of your own home by yourself was such a mystery to him. He seemed a lot less exhausting to just be alone.

And so he was. Alone, he means. And that was just fine; that was what he preferred.

So like he said, he didn't expect a change in routine.

But it happened.

On Wednesday, the cluster of bodies in front of his building reappeared, encircling the little mime like a bunch of vultures. Kageyama wasn't sure why he conjured that particular imagery, but it seemed to fit. He'd seen more rings around performers in his town to last him a lifetime, so why this congregation looked predatory to him, he didn't quite understand, and least of all did he understand the sudden, intrusive, gut need to _protect_.

Okay, you know what? He didn't. It was fine. The audience was fucking fine and he didn't care one way or the other, anyway.

He's getting ahead of himself.

But, still, that day, he stopped to watch. Despite the growling in his stomach, reminding him of the instant ramen lining his shelves and the frozen pizzas stuffed in his freezer.

And maybe… looking back on it now, it wasn't much of a surprise that he stopped.

But that time, that flaming hair was already covered by another stupid hat, so it wasn't like there were any flashing colors to drag his eyes over to that bouncing body. His face was still all painted white with the small red circles on his cheeks, and he was dressed similarly with black suspenders - though he'd traded in his stripes for a flattering white button-up shirt.

When Kageyama sidled up to the ring of people, his eyes dropped to the brown bag again, flitting over the white characters painted on the side.

‘ _Hinata_.’

He would have frowned at it, but he was already frowning.

 _Stupid_ _Hinata_.

There was a little more shuffling that time for Kageyama to get a good look at the performer, instead of just catching fleeting glimpses of him through small spaces in the crowd - a little more sidestepping and some more awkward _excuse_ _me’s_ ; maybe the ring was a couple-more bodies thick than last time, or maybe it was the fact that the boy was seated on the ground that Kageyama had to push his way in to see. But he was finally able to get another look at him, red tufts of wild hair poking out from beneath a brown bowler hat, a corny smile stretched out over his pale face. And he was… uh...

Having… a tea party?

It sure looked like it.

Yep, the mime was seated on the ground, cross-legged and pretending to hold a cup with a dainty gloved hand.

At the risk of sounding redundant, he was miming some conversation with a phantom companion across from him; and it seemed pleasant enough. There was silent laughter and wide, shining smiles accompanied by the whole ‘ _oh_ _you_ ’ gestures and facial expressions that had the crowd giggling. It was certainly cute - not that that meant anything to Kageyama. Not at all.

But then the jovial afternoon tea appeared to take a turn for the scandalous or the offensive as Hinata suddenly placed his hand dramatically to his chest in shock, and then threw his tea into the other’s face.

This earned him a ripple of laughter from the audience, and even Kageyama had to force away the smile tugging up the corner of his mouth.

Hinata then launched into some seated rendition of the trapped in the box routine; he started out surprised by his fabricated predicament, fingers tapping tentatively on the glass around him, pressing his hands to the top and the sides. He then segued into something akin to distress - brown eyes wide and panicked as they darted from spectator to spectator, lips moving in silent calls for help while he banged on the walls.

Kageyama had to admit… he was a pretty good actor.

And he was _outrageously_ good at all his mime nonsense.

Because when he jumped to his feet, Kageyama could practically hear his back thud off the low ceiling of his pretend containment cube; his small body jolted against the invisible barrier before he flopped back down to his knees, giving the “ceiling” an affronted upwards glare. And then his face pinched in determination; the audience laughed when the theatrical little shit shoved his sleeves up to his elbows, pink tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth right before he sprung up, crashing against the top of the cube in an impressive attempt at escape.

Back on his hands and knees, he gave the audience a look of _I_ _got_ _this_ and licked his lips before trying again.

Only that time, the momentum of his small body seemingly carried him up and through the top of the invisible glass chamber, where he dove out over one of the walls and tumbled into a perfect somersault, springing up to his feet amidst a smattering of applause.

Grinning, Hinata bowed graciously around the circle.

And with a certain degree of discomfort, Kageyama lowered his clapping hands, stuffing them into his pockets and shifting his eyes around nervously. He didn’t mean to join in on the applause.

It wasn’t that cool.

But it _was_ cool. The little mime was definitely cool; and also... like, _painfully_ dorky in his interactions with the crowd. He was way over the top in his expressions, and Kageyama was pretty sure his smile was radioactive.

Kageyama isn’t the best at metaphor.

But there was no doubt about it, there was just something about this guy that was captivating; not to mention the fact that Kageyama never knew that mimes were so acrobatic - every other movement was paired with some kind of cartwheel or athletic tumble, or him pretending to fall or, rather, actually falling. He somehow struck the perfect balance between athlete and klutz, but why he rolled it all up into this mime performance when he could probably be out doing other things, Kageyama wasn’t sure.

Probably because he really was stupid, Kageyama figured. Stupid enough to be wasting his talents doing this shit when he could be doing… whatever else with his time.

Although…

Blue eyes dropped to the upturned hat overflowing with yen right before Kageyama peeled off and stepped away from the crowd, turning his back on the rest of the performance for that day..

Okay… maybe he’s not _that_ stupid.

But no, he _was_ stupid; he was stupid for choosing to arrange himself directly in Kageyama’s path, for interfering with his peaceful, solitary walk home, for becoming the inevitable distraction that Kageyama just knew he would become.

Because as agitated as Kageyama was by this obnoxious little newcomer, he continued to return, day after day, to watch the little mime perform.

It wasn’t that he could help it, Kageyama rationalized - he had to pass by to get to his door! It’s not like he wanted to watch, or anything. The dumb shit was a performer… a fucking gypsy of sorts that was well-trained in the art of capturing the attention of his audience.

His predominantly _male_ audience, Kageyama realized one cloudy afternoon after shuffling up to the circle.

Whatever.

But that wasn’t exactly a surprise, really; Hinata was unbearably cute - adorable, even. Small, feminine.

What? That’s literally the second time he called the idiot cute - it’s not some big revelation or anything.

It didn’t mean anything at all.

Except…

In the days to come, Kageyama found himself walking just little faster on his way home, staying to watch just a few minutes more before heading up to his apartment.

He’d yet to see the very beginning or the end of the performance - something always ticked him off before the finale and he’d stalk away, or maybe a strange, creeping heat in his cheeks would become just a little too uncomfortably hot, and he’d hunch his shoulders and duck his head, praying no one stopped to talk to him as he stomped up several flights of stairs.

No one ever did.

But one particularly awful Monday – and he's not saying anything happened that day… nothing out of the ordinary, anyway. He just…

There were days and then there were _days_ ; days when getting out of bed was more than just a chore, his walk to school was just a little too quiet, his lunch on the bench just a little too lonely, and time seemed to tick by at an agonizing crawl. His thoughts were muddled and all mixed up, and his mind felt dark and hopeless and heavy. The sky loomed with grey, brooding clouds, even when the sun was bright and warm.

It was an oppressive feeling, really, viral in the way it originated in the front of his mind, spreading down into his chest, hollowing it, and then radiating out into the world around him.

But he knew tomorrow it would leave, it always did, and the burden of his solitude would shift into a secure weight of familiar comfort, swaddling him in a cozy, protective layer of _alone_.

And so he spent the better part of the day just watching the clock, waiting for the moment he could escape from the drudgery of life, the forced social interactions, the niceties of being in public, and maybe just crawl into bed early that evening, shutting his eyes on the bad day and getting a head start on a better one.

At least… that's what he told himself.

But maybe there was something else that propelled him from his chair the second his professor said that they would be concluding early for the day.

Kageyama was hardly the first person to arrive at the mime’s place on the sidewalk. Despite the fact that he was still setting up, Kageyama was one among several spectators watching Hinata unfurl the tattered red mat from his suitcase, blanketing his performance area in a soft, well-worn cushion.

The moment he placed that upturned hat at the edge of the mat, three of the audience members practically jumped at the chance to toss their money into it, the coins having already been clutched in their fists.

And as always, Hinata flashed them a big smile and bowed his thanks to each one individually.

With a blush rising in his scowling face, Kageyama dropped his eyes and slipped his hand back into his pocket, stuffing the yen back into its place for… a less conspicuous occasion.

But when he looked back up, he froze – stuck in place by a pair of wide, bright eyes, sparkling a honey brown and staring out from a face of white makeup.

The mime seemed to be caught off guard, for whatever reason, after catching Kageyama’s eye. His lips parted, breath caught somewhere between an inhale and a word.

But then Hinata was looking away, greeting a group of newcomers with warm smiles as they edged up to the mat.

And Kageyama released the breath he was holding.

The act began with a some polite applause, another bow and another wide, toothy grin around the circle before Hinata launched into his suitcase routine.

Kageyama could have sworn those eyes lingered on him just a moment longer than the others.

But it was probably just wishful thinking. Which was an odd realization in itself, but when those eyes met his, the dark clouds hanging above him seemed to part, and a ray of sunshine lit his grey world.

If only for a moment.

But the rest of the show was littered with peeking side glances and wobbly, self-conscious smiles aimed at the ground, after.

From Hinata, that is.

Kageyama was, admittedly, incredibly confused. Shooting curious looks to either side of him, Kageyama was convinced that, surely, those smiles were meant for someone else - whether they filled his lonely heart with a tingling warmth or not, this ball of luminous energy would never spare the gloomy Tobio even a second of his time.

And so to test his depressing theory, he moved to a different location in the circle when Hinata was rooting around in his bag; he didn't move far, he just shuffled a couple feet to the side, putting a couple bodies between him and where he was originally standing.

And wouldn't you know it, when Hinata raised his head, an undeniable look of panic crossed his cheery face, brown eyes darting back and forth, wildly scanning the crowd.

Kageyama’s stomach flipped when Hinata found him again - a small cock of his head and a jerky glance away later, Hinata dissolved into a relieved, sheepish grin.

Interesting.

God - what he wouldn’t give to see the skin beneath all that makeup blush; cheeks kissed all pink with flush, rather than paint, color blooming a rosy hue beneath a smattering of freckles.

Kageyama assumed he had freckles, anyway, what with the red hair.

He’d… imagined those freckles a little more often than he’s comfortable admitting.

In so many places other than the mime’s face.

Squirming and ducking his head, as if the people around him could read his thoughts, and—oh shit, if the deep scowl aimed his way from another guy in the circle is anything to go by, maybe they actually could.

Kageyama swallowed, dropping his eyes to his feet.

But then a tiny gloved hand appeared in his field of view, palm open.

Kageyama’s head snapped up, eyes meeting Hinata’s, warm and hopeful and inviting with a playful glimmer shining brightly.

With his heart in his throat, Kageyama blinked at the expectant face beaming up at him; he gave a startled inhale, lips parting in a silent question before glancing nervously around the circle at the several pairs of eyes watching this new development unfold. Most people met his gaze with happy anticipation.

Others did not look so thrilled.

Escaping the scathing glares of envy, Kageyama refocused his attention on the mime, and then slowly, hesitantly, placed his trembling fingers into the small hand before being tugged enthusiastically into the center of the circle.

Now, if it’s one thing Kageyama dislikes, it’s being the center of attention; however, beneath the gaze of those kind, mirthful eyes, Kageyama felt some of that anxiety drop away, sliding from his tense shoulders to make way for a new, fluttery sensation welling up inside.

Kageyama finally understood what the whole _butterflies_ _in_ _the_ _stomach_ thing was all about.

Having led Kageyama into his place, Hinata released his hand and presented him to the audience with a grand, sweeping gesture of his arms before aiming some applause at him, and the audience followed in kind, clapping for the volunteer.

There was a little adjusting, where Hinata grabbed Kageyama’s hips and shoved him backwards a foot or two, contemplating something while furrowing his brow and tapping a gloved finger to his chin; he then shook his head and yanked Kageyama back forward by his wrist before posting his fists to his own hips, circling around Kageyama and mulling over this position to the sound of the audience’s laughter. After moving to stand directly in front of Kageyama, Hinata compared their heights with his hand, stretching an arm up high to reach the top of Kageyama’s head before bringing his palm back down to rest atop his hat. He frowned deeply around the circle, earning him a couple quiet giggles, and then set a determined scowl in his face before raising up onto his toes to make himself a couple inches taller. He failed to match Kageyama’s height, by, like, at least five inches, and he huffed out an annoyed little breath, falling back down onto his heels and crossing his arms across his chest in a pout.

And Kageyama thought his heart might burst.

But Hinata dissolved into an easy smile, winking at Kageyama before stepping away to segue into the next part of the act, brown eyes lowered to the red mat, seemingly searching hard for something.

Kageyama shifted his weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable now with Hinata’s attention focused elsewhere. Was Hinata done with him? Should he step back into the crowd? Was that a thing he should just… _know_? Was—

There was a quiet gasp from Hinata and he froze, staring down at the ground with a delighted smile before looking back at Kageyama and pointing excitedly at the invisible item he found.

Kageyama arched a brow.

Hinata bent down, and with a delicate pinch of his fingers and a flick of his wrist, plucked a phantom flower from the mat. He straightened up and smelled it deeply with a dreamy look on his face, letting his eyes flutter in satisfaction before popping it behind his own ear with a flourish. A goofy smile worked its way onto Kageyama’s face and the crowd laughed when Hinata preened, proudly showing off his new ornament.

Returning his attention to Kageyama, Hinata approached him with a slow, timid gait, removing the flower from behind his ear and hiding it behind his back, eyes lowered bashfully when he stopped in front of the other boy.

Kageyama swallowed thickly, his stomach plummeting to the ground the second he realized what was about to happen.

But there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The mime looked up, all wide, imploring eyes, glistening with something that Kageyama could have sworn was genuine vulnerability if he didn’t know that this was all just part of the act.

And then Hinata extended his arm forward, presenting Kageyama with his flower.

Of all the things Kageyama could have imagined that he would one day struggle with, accepting an invisible flower from the cutest guy alive might have been at the bottom of the list.

Panicked, Kageyama’s gaze flicked from face to face around the circle; several sets of anxious eyes meet his before he jerked his face back down and was met with the most anxious eyes of all.

And then the little mime bit his lip.

Fuck - Kageyama didn’t stand a chance

Honestly, he never did.

So raising a shaking, sweaty hand, Kageyama took the invisible gift from slender fingers. Hinata’s face lit up, his fists coming up to press against his cheeks in feigned shyness.

And, yeah, of course Kageyama knew it was all still part of the performance, but it didn’t have any less of an effect on him. A strange fullness took hold, swelling inside his chest and pushing out into his limbs, warm and thick beneath his skin.

When Hinata clutched his heart theatrically, hand winding up into his shirt, Kageyama melted where he stood.

 _It’s just an act_ , he told himself.

It’s just an act.

But it was like the sun dawning on him for the first time; no one had ever looked at him with such pure joy - even if it was entirely over the top in the way Hinata stumbled around dramatically, pretending to swoon in Kageyama’s direction, placing the back of his hand to his forehead and—

“Oh fuck—” Kageyama gasped, taking a sharp step forward and catching the little asshole around the waist before he fell to the ground.

Kageyama stared down at Hinata in alarm, but brown eyes popped open a second later and a wide, shit-eating grin split his makeup-ed face.

The thought of throwing him briefly crossed Kageyama’s mind - fuck, he was certainly light enough - but he didn’t get the chance before Hinata sprung back up onto his feet and bowed graciously around the circle to laughter and applause.

Kageyama frowned, brows knitting as he watched Hinata eat up the crowd’s adoration like candy as the warmth from the mime’s attention seeped out of him, and his world began to darken once again.

Until a gloved hand took hold of his, shaking him and nodding towards the audience. He wanted Kageyama to bow, too.

And so he did, barely and sheepishly, with Hinata’s hand clutched tight in his - the crowd was less enthusiastic, this time. But Kageyama didn’t care.

It was like that warm hand kept the sunshine in place, stoppering up those good feelings and holding back the advance of melancholy. He deeply mourned the loss when Hinata let go.

So with his role fulfilled, Kageyama turned away to recede back into the audience, but an urgent, grabby hand at the front of his jacket rooted him in place.

Turning, Kageyama watched Hinata gather his hands into his own, holding them up to his skinny chest as he looked into Kageyama’s eyes expectantly.

Dark brows furrowed in question. “What?” He asked, a warmth rising into his cheeks, self-couscous and too aware of the way his hands rested against the soft, thin fabric of his shirt.

And Hinata smiled timidly, lips pressed together and eyes dropping away when he released one of Kageyama’s hands - and then he tilted his head, tapping one rosy-painted cheek with his finger.

It took Kageyama several seconds of hard concentration to finally work out what Hinata was trying to communicate.

And even once he _did_ figure it out, it took him a good thirty seconds to come to terms with it.

His stupefied, slack-jawed expression earned him a silent, nervous giggle from Hinata that he covered with his hand, and a rippling, hushed tremor of laughter from the audience.

An oppressive heat shot up into Kageyama’s face, threatening to burn him alive where he stood. But he felt himself lean forward - his body moving entirely on its own, it seemed, as his brain was reduced to a smoking pile of ash inside his skull. His pulse raced but time froze when as he closed that final inch.

His lips barely brushed the soft, reddened cheek before he pulled away quickly. The momentum carried him a few startled steps backward, eyes wide when they watched Hinata cover his cheek with his hand - a flicker of shock ghosting across his face when he looked back at Kageyama.

But that was the last thing Kageyama saw. With his face aflame, he turned on his heel and pushed his way through the crowd, stumbling onto the sidewalk and then sprinting towards his building on wobbly legs.

The windows rattled with the force of him slamming the door to his apartment. He didn’t even shuck his shoes or remove his jacket - fuck, he barely dumped his messenger bag on the floor - before he ran into his room and dove into his bed, pulling the covers high up over his head and burying his burning face into the pillow.

He groaned a loud, pitiful noise against the fabric, kicking his sneakered feet hard against the mattress. Though despite the humiliation racing across his skin, cooking him alive in his bed, his cheeks begun to hurt from the persistent, dopey smile stretched wide across his red face.

It had been his intention to sleep the rest of the day away, anyway, so when he finally toed off his shoes and kicked out of his jeans, he closed his eyes against the day, just as planned.

Only it wasn’t to escape the dreadfulness of the day - no, the clouds had lifted and there was no longer a need to flee. Rather, he was painfully eager to get a start on tomorrow.

Kageyama drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face and a promise in his heart: he wouldn’t run away again, no matter what happened.

For the first time in his life, his misery actually gave way to hope.

For the first time in his life... Kageyama had a crush.

* * *

 

Alone in the alley, and having changed into a yellow sweatshirt and jeans after his performance, Hinata sat cross-legged in front of his suitcase while the sun slipped low on the horizon, wiping off his makeup with a cloth and his little hand-held mirror. He inspected his face carefully for any stray specks of paint - there’s always at least one - before folding the cloth and placing it gently into his bag to wash when he returned home. He smiled to himself, cheeks pink from more than just the scrubbing when he stowed the mirror beside the cloth.

A little adlibbing during his act certainly isn’t a bad thing, Hinata thought to himself, his fingers coming up to brush gently across his cheek.

Especially if it brought some light to those sad, pretty blue eyes.

And he hoped so hard that he’d have the chance to do it again tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm stoked and crazy honored to be a part of this collaboration and SERIOUSLY, check out @dh3sh on tumblr <3 I am so smitten with her art :DD 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope to have the next chapter out soon!


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